


A Christmas Schtupping

by Schwoozie



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Big Mutant Family, But also the best, Charles is the worst husband, Christmas, Domestic, Dress Up, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 11:03:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik knows that Charles can be a little eccentric, but he never expected his husband to go this far. But hell, it's Christmas, and Wanda and Pietro deserve their first holiday as a family to be a memorable one.</p><p>Or: I Saw Papa Kissing Santa Claus (and he was really into it!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Christmas Schtupping

<<I swear to God, Charles, if anyone finds out I took part in this I will shave your head with a razor soaked in lemon juice.>>

<<Come now love, it's for the children.>>

<<You said that when we took them to the zoo. We nearly caused a massacre.>>

<<And you've never looked more sexy, darling. My husband the Tiger Slayer.>>

<<That won't work on me, Charles.>>

<<You know it does.>>

<<I swear to God, if you've hidden a disposable camera...>>

“Papa?”

“What is it, _mausi_?”

“When's Daddy coming home?”

Erik sent a pointed mental glare at Charles, who chuckled in reply. Oh, he would pay for this.

“Not until tomorrow. Why, do you need to tell him something?”

“You look angry,” Wanda mumbled, “And Daddy makes you feel better.”

Erik paused in his furious washing of the dishes, noticing the forbidding scowl on his face and the knots in his shoulders. He sighed heavily and dried his hands before picking up his daughter and kissing her cheek.

“ _You_ make me happy, _schatzi_. I'm sorry for being mean.”

Wanda reached out a tiny hand and grabbed his lips, shaking them. “Your mouth gets all wrinkly when you're grumpy, it's funny.”

Erik grinned and snapped at her hand; she squealed and pulled her arm to her chest, shoving her face in his shoulder as he blew a raspberry into her temple.

“You still think I look funny? You think your papa looks funny?”

“Yes!” she giggled, batting at his face and kicking his stomach.

He gave her one more squeeze before setting her on her feet and kissing her hair. “Go make sure your brother isn't trying to blow up the TV again, _ja_?”

Wanda giggled again and hugged his legs. She glanced at the kitchen door, then back up at him, and shouted, “Prune mouth!” before darting away. Erik tugged at one of her bobby pins in retaliation, but couldn't help chuckling.

A warm, shining presence at the back of his mind made him scowl again. <<I'm still not happy, Charles.>>

<<I'll put some prunes under the tree for you.>>

<<They'll end up in your ass.>>

<<I've had worse things down there,>> Charles said mischievously, and Erik had to turn towards the wall in case Wanda came sneaking again.

<<Really? Do tell.>>

Charles laughed. <<Finish the dishes, love, I'll see you soon.>>

<<I am _not_ looking forward to it, >> Erik grumbled, but did as he was told. He didn't want to leave it to Christmas morning.

**~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~* **~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~****

“Children, come down, it's dinner time!”

“Auntie Raven isn't coming?” Wanda asked as she walked in hand in hand with her brother. Erik's mouth twitched at the picture the two of them made: they had the same straight brown hair and pixie noses, but Wanda was darker whilst Pietro was fair, with a dusting of freckles across his nose. Although they were related to neither Charles nor Erik by blood, he couldn't help seeing bits of Charles in both of them, especially the fondness with which they held on to each other. He tempered his sentimentality quickly in case Charles was listening; he was still annoyed with him, dammit.

“Auntie Raven's on her honeymoon, remember? She and Uncle Azazel will come for Christmas next year.”

“Why did Daddy have to work tonight, Papa?” Pietro asked, already folding a napkin into his lap.

“The university is throwing a party for his boss, and Daddy was kind enough to handle the decorations,“ Erik lied smoothly, hating his husband with every fiber of his being.

<<I heard that.>>

<<Can we get this over with, please?>>

<<Make sure they eat their veggies first.>>

<<I know how to feed my children, Charles.>>

<<Our children, dear.>>

<<Not after this. I'm suing for sole custody. I don't trust _meshuganas_ around minors. >>

<<Please at least _pretend_ to be a good sport, Erik. It's their first Christmas with us. I want to make it special for them. >>

Charles's fondly teasing tone was gone, and Erik felt his ears heat up in shame. Erik had never approved of the irreverence surrounding the holiday season, especially in America. As a child in Germany, Chanukah had been his favorite week of the year, but it was a time for quiet, and reflection, and prayers. They had celebrated Chanukah together several weeks before. On each night, Erik gave each of them a small piece of metal that, when fit together, became beautiful, intricate puzzle boxes. Wanda had given him coupons for services like shoulder massages and personal manicures, and Pietro wrote eight haikus about his new family which he shyly hung on the fridge.

On the final night Charles held him close and stroked his hair as Erik cried himself to sleep, because in twenty years he had never been so happy.

And if Charles found that kind of peace through ridiculous, demeaning shenanigans, who was Erik to mock him for it? This was the light that had drawn him to Charles, after all, the genetics professor who brought him lattes in the morning and stayed on campus through a snowstorm to keep the grumpy mechanic company. Their first kiss had been in the boiler room of the biology building; Charles had a burn just below his shoulder from where he had bumped against the furnace, and Erik's obsession with it was like a disease – just glimpsing the jagged scar as Charles dressed in the morning could get him hard. Charles teased him for it mercilessly, but then Erik would run his tongue along the mark and that shut the man up every time.

Now, though, the doubts that had plagued him incessantly in the first weeks of their relationship were creeping back in. How could someone like Charles want someone like him? Charles was arrogant and stubborn and too forgiving for his own good; but more importantly, he was perfect – and Erik was cantankerous and prejudiced and too selfish to be believed, and how much happier would Charles be with someone better–

<<There's nothing better than you, Erik,>> Charles said softly. <<We don't have to do this if it bothers you so much. I can nip upstairs and change and we'll still have a wonderful night.>>

<<No,>> Erik thought resolutely, <<This will make you happy. I want you to be happy.>>

<<I know, love. I want _you_ to be happy too. >>

<<I know.>>

<<Last chance to say no, Erik.>>

Erik sighed. <<If I do you'll pout for weeks. Go ahead.>>

<<Your enthusiasm is thrilling,>> Charles said dryly. Erik felt the strange draining sensation as Charles left his thoughts.

Wanda was chattering about the intricate plot developments of her latest Pony Pals book when the doorbell rang.

“Get the door, _mausi_?” Erik asked, in the middle of cutting Pietro's chicken for him.

“OK!” Wanda shouted (Erik sometimes wondered if part of her mutation involved the golden retriever genome), and she flounced out of her chair. Pietro turned to watch, and Erik put his knife down, bracing himself.

“Hello, welcome to the Xavier-Lensherr household, my name is Wanda what's yo–“ and she stuttered to a stop, staring up open-mouthed. Erik watched her carefully for signs of shock.

Pietro's gasp broke the sudden silence, and his normally reserved face leapt into a grin.

“Santa!”

“Ho-ho-hello there!” the figure at the door said, stroking his enormous stomach. “I do hope I'm not intruding, but I was scouting out my route for tonight and poor Rudolph's nose lost power! Do you think I could come inside while he recharges? It's ho-ho-horrible outside!”

Wanda was still staring slack-jawed, but Pietro squirmed in his seat, turning to Erik and yelling, “Can he, Papa, can he?”

“Of course, _schatzi_. Go get the cookies you made with your sister, Santa looks hungry.”

Meanwhile, Wanda still had not moved, and Erik was beginning to get concerned.

“ _Mausi_? Say hello.”

Wanda blinked a few times, then pointed a trembling finger at the man. She took in a giant breath like a balloon and her shoulders reached her ears and when Erik wasn't sure whether she could hold any more air:

“YOU BETTER HAVE MY BARBIE FASHION DREAM HOUSE OR I'M CHARGING YOU THREE DOLLARS AND TWENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR ALL THE LETTERS I SENT WHICH YOU _DIDN'T REPLY TO_ , AND DADDY ALWAYS SAYS IT'S RUDE NOT TO ANSWER LETTERS SO I HOPE YOU GIVE YOURSELF COAL THIS YEAR AND IF YOU DON'T HAVE MY DREAM HOUSE I'LL MAKE MY PAPA HUNT YOU DOWN AND PULL OUT EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR TEETH UNTIL ALL YOU CAN EAT IS RICE PUDDING–“

“Ho-ho-hold on, little girl,” Santa said, dropping to one knee before her. “I think you have me confused with someone else. I don't _give_ children presents – I just check up on the extra special kids, to make sure their parents are taking good care of them.”

“So, so you don't have my Dream House?”

Santa shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid not, little girl.”

Wanda glanced back at Erik, then whispered loudly: “Sooo... did _Papa_ get me a Dream House?”

Santa glanced up at Erik and winked. “You'll have to wait until morning; the Santa Oath says I cannot reveal the contents of presents before 8:00am on December 25th.”

Wanda scowled and put her hands on her hips. “What kind of Santa are you?”

“A mistreated one,” Erik said drily. “Wanda, let the man come in, he's traveled a long way.”

Wanda rolled her eyes and pointed at the table. “Go over there, then, you can have my asparagus.”

“A child who has not eaten her vegetables?” Santa exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe I need to intervene here after all.”

“Please don't,” Pietro said, and blushed fiercely when he realized Santa had heard him. “I mean, I... we love Papa and Daddy, right Wanda?”

“Only if I get my Dream House,” she muttered.

“I don't want to leave. I like it here. Please don't take us away from them,” Pietro whispered, his eyes swimming with tears.

Erik and Santa's eyes met, and Santa walked over to Pietro, once again dropping down to his level. “Don't you fret, little boy. Your daddies love you very, very, _very_ much. I could see it from miles and miles away. That's why I chose this house to land my sleigh on. Do you love them too, Pietro?”

“Yes,” Pietro mumbled, wiping an eye with his fist.

“I'm so glad,” Santa said softly. He dried Pietro's cheeks with a white-gloved thumb. “I spoke to your daddy before I came here, you know.”

Wanda looked at him skeptically. “You _reeeeally_ talked to Daddy?”

“Why yes I did! The– can I tell you a secret?”

Pietro nodded fiercely, and Wanda shrugged, acting bored.

“Daddy's assistant Hank is actually... an elf!”

Pietro gaped. “No way.”

“Way,” said Santa.

“I don't believe you,” Wanda said flatly.

“It's true!” Santa said, smiling brilliantly. “In fact, any mutant can train to be an elf! Do either of you know where I can find some mutants?”

“We're mutants, all of us!” Pietro shouted.

“We could be elves?” Wanda whispered, a high flush climbing up her cheeks.

“Well, not for many, many years, and not without your parents' permission. But I'll make an appointment with your papa and your daddy and we'll talk about it.”

“Can they come with us?” Pietro asked. “They're mutants too! And Papa can make the most amazing toys, he'd be a perfect elf!”

“Papa is most welcome,” Santa said, shooting Erik a look where he stood in the corner, arms crossed and smirking.

“What did Daddy say, then?” Wanda asked.

Santa smiled warmly through his beard. “He said how very sorry he is that he couldn't be with you on Christmas Eve. There's nowhere in the whole wide world he'd rather be than with the two of you. And with Papa.”

“What about Auntie Raven?”

“And Auntie Raven, yes; but she's all grown up. She doesn't need Daddy anymore.”

“Papa is a grown-up, too.”

“Yes. Yes he is.” Santa looked at Erik, and for a moment his gaze was piercing blue. “Grown-ups need people too, sometimes. But Daddy needs Papa far more than Papa needs Daddy.”

“That's silly,” said Wanda.

“But it's true!” Pietro protested. “Daddy can never get the lids off pickle jars, he needs Papa to help him. Remember when Papa was away for a week? We couldn't eat pickles the whole entire time!”

“He can't reach the top shelf of the bookcase, either,” Wanda conceded.

“And you can always tell when he makes dinner because one side is blacker than the other–“

“My goodness, look how late it's gotten!” Santa interjected loudly. “It's time for good little children to be in bed!”

Erik smirked. “A bit presumptuous of you, Santa, I was enjoying this conversation.”

“Please can we stay up, please, please, please!”

“Sorry, Pietro, Santa is right, it's time to sleep. Finish your milk and hop off upstairs.”

“But what about Santa?”

“Rudolph must be nearly ready by now,” Santa reassured them. He leaned closer and stage-whispered, “Besides, I need to make sure Papa has your presents ready.”

“Papa, you'll still read to us, won't you?” Wanda asked, grabbing Pietro's hand.

“Of course, _schatzi_. Say goodnight to Santa, now, and thank him for being so kind.”

Wanda went up to Santa and shook his hand solemnly, saying that she hoped he got to every house he wanted to and that his sleigh didn't crash. Pietro seemed shy again, and hung back until Erik prompted him forward. He walked up to Santa and, cheeks red, mumbled something in his ear. When he finished, Santa hugged him tightly and whispered back, pressing a kiss to the boy's cheek. Still red, but grinning ear to ear, Pietro walked away and took Wanda's hand.

Santa turned to Erik and offered his hand. “Thank you for your hospitality, Papa. Take good care of Daddy for me, won't you?”

Erik rolled his eyes, but shook the proffered limb anyway, scraping his fingernail across the pulse point under cover of Santa's voluminous sleeve.

“Get home to Mrs. Claus in one piece, now; she might have a jar that needs, ah, opening.”

Santa rolled his eyes, but Erik did not fail to notice the flush spreading across his nose. He smirked and turned to shoo his children up the stairs.

“Bye, Santa!” they both called. Erik did not turn back until he reached the landing, and by then the man in red had vanished.

  **~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~* **~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *  ~ * ~ * ~****

After re-reading “The Dragon and the Unicorn” for at least the hundredth time and shutting the lights with a flick of his wrist, Erik slowly descended to a darkened living room, the only illumination coming from the lights on the tree. He waited a few moments for his eyes to adjust, and then a smile, unbidden, stole across his face. He walked slowly to the figure waiting in darkness by the mantlepiece.

“The things you do for love,” Erik murmured, fingering the fluffy white collar.

Charles had removed the beard and the illusion that changed his face and body, but he retained the coat and hat, which flopped ridiculously into his eyes. He grinned goofily as the pom-pom on the end swayed in front of his face.

“You still think the whole exercise is demeaning?” he asked as Erik pushed the pom-pom aside.

“Completely,” Erik said, stepping into his space.

“It's your turn next year, you know.”

“As long as I don't have to dress up for Easter.”

Charles's eyes brightened and he jerked away from Erik's encroaching mouth. “I never even thought of Easter, what a fabulous idea!” Erik froze and groaned internally, and Charles laughed, full-throated and in the way he loved. “I must tell Raven in the morning so she can start the bunny suit–“

“You wouldn't dare,” Erik murmured.

“But I must tell her, too, how I have the most wonderful husband,” Charles said, pitching his voice just as low and running his hands up Erik's chest. Erik bared his teeth in a grin and Charles barely hid a shiver.

“And that _I_ have the most ridiculous,” Erik said, taking Charles's left hand and kissing and nipping from the wrist to the ring finger, curling his tongue around the slim steel band. Charles gasped and swayed into him, eyes locked on Erik's mouth as Erik watched his eyes. The ring pulsed obscenely against Charles's flesh, and he gasped quietly.

“That's not fair,” he murmured.

“I have no idea what you're talking about – Mr. Claus.”

Charles chuckled, swallowing thickly. “That was a dirty joke you made, by the way, about poor old Mrs. Claus. I very nearly took offense.”

Erik hummed in interest and took the finger into his mouth.

“One day the children will be old enough to – ah – understand–“

Erik slid his other hand beneath the ridiculous jacket and the sweater he encountered, grinning when Charles gasped as cool hands hit his steaming stomach.

“–and I hope you'll keep your innuendos to yourself–“

“Not all to myself, I hope,” Erik murmured, sliding Charles's finger from his mouth and pressing a kiss to the underside of the knuckle. “What did Pietro say to you? Unless it's private.”

Charles smiled softly beneath his lust blown eyes. “He thanked me for answering his Christmas wish.”

“Which is?”

Charles wound his arms around Erik's waist and pressed a kiss to his throat, through his turtle-neck. He looked up at Erik with his chin on his collarbone.

“To have a family on Christmas.”

Charles kissed his chin as Erik's eyes warred between emotions. He swallowed thickly and turned his head away, staring furiously at the wall.

“Hey,” Charles said quietly, turning him back with a hand on his cheek. “What is it, love?” he murmured.

Erik grunted. “You know what. We've been through this.”

After a moment, Charles nodded. “Yes. We have. But that doesn't mean you don't need reminding.”

Erik's brow furrowed. “Reminding? Of what?”

“Of how very, very much, and truly, and deeply I love your cantankerous ass.”

Against his will, Erik smiled. “Just my ass?”

“Not just. Only mostly.”

Erik moved his hand to Charles's back, sliding the other one in to join it. He used the leverage to press Charles close, to watch how the lights flickered against his brilliant face.

“And what's your Christmas wish, Mr. Claus?” Erik asked, closing his eyes and running his nose against his husband's.

“Nothing,” he whispered, hot on Erik's face, “I have everything I could ever want.”

“Hmmm,” Erik said, brushing his lips against the corner of Charles's mouth, grinning at his whine when he eluded the seeking lips. “' _Everything_ ' is a very strong word.”

“You're trying to make me beg, aren't you.”

“Now why would I do that?”

“Because you're awful.”

“Now _that's_ the way you clinch a seduction.”

“I thought we got married so I wouldn't have to worry about these tedious bits.”

“You find it tedious; I'd call it more... _invigorating_.”

“If you don't kiss me in three seconds I'm getting a divorce: one... two... thr–“ and Erik kissed him.

Charles groaned and surged up on his tip-toes, as wanton and unashamed and responsive as always and Erik couldn't help the way he collapsed against him, digging his fingers into the skin of his back as Charles ran his hands over his face and neck and shoulders and dragged his nails down Erik's sweater, and Erik had a vivid wish to be literally red and green by Christmas morning.

“And you wanted to put this off,” Charles hissed into the air as Erik kissed down his neck to swirl his tongue in the suprasternal notch.

“Only to enhance it,” Erik growled as Charles jerked him up by the hair and reclaimed his mouth, thrusting his tongue obscenely as he pressed their hips and torsos together, and even through all their layers the pressure made Erik groan. He slid his hands into the backs of Charles's jeans, grinning as his palms filled and Charles bucked against him.

“I love your arse,” Erik murmured between kisses, squeezing in time with their slow grinding. The sensation was magnificent, and Erik couldn't help but be turned on by the feathery-softness of the coat against his wrists and the plush of the hat on his forehead; he imagined dragging Charles up to bed and pulling his clothing apart with his teeth until all he wore was the jacket and that damned hat – he'd never be able to pass a Christmas display without getting hard again–

“Yes, yes, Erik, exactly that, do everything to me you wouldn't do to anyone else–“

“...Papa?”

Erik jerked his head up, mouth still red and gasping, and found Pietro standing in the doorway, clutching his one-eared teddy bear with eyes huge and shining with tears. Erik pulled his hands out of Charles's pants and wiped them on his jeans before going forward, only to freeze when Pietro took his own step back.

“ _Schatzi_ , what's wrong?” Erik asked. “Did you have a bad dream?”

Pietro shook his head, hiding his face.

“ _Schatz_ –“

“Will you tell Daddy?”

Erik frowned, glancing at Charles. “Tell him what, _schatzi_?”

Pietro threw an accusatory finger at Charles and yelled, tears streaming, “That I saw you kissing Santa Claus!”

Erik stared at his son, uncomprehending.

Then Charles laughed loudly behind him.

“Oh love, I'm right here!” Charles said, taking off his hat and stepping into the light.

Pietro blinked up at him. “But, but that's Santa's–“

“I ran into Santa on my way home and he saw that I was cold, so he gave me his coat. Oh my darling, you really thought Papa would kiss someone else?”

“I, I didn't–“

“Come here,” Charles said, picking him up and putting the hat on the little boy's head. He kissed the tears off his cheeks. “How was your Christmas Eve, love?”

“It was really good,” Pietro mumbled. “I wish you had been here, though.”

“What, Papa didn't take care of you?” Charles asked, smirking back at Erik.

“No, he did. But it's better with you here too.”

“I am so sorry, darling. I'll be home all day tomorrow, though. We can walk over to the diner and get hot chocolate. And,” he leaned in to whisper in Pietro's ear, “maybe if you're good, Auntie Ororo will make it snow. Would you like that?”

“Yeah,” Pietro said, wiping at his eyes. He peered at Erik shyly. “Will Papa be there too?”

“Of course, _schatzi_ ,” Erik said, coming to kiss the crown of his head. Charles smiled up at him and rested under the curve of his arm.

“So you see? We'll have a wonderful Christmas. Do you think you can go back to sleep now?”

“Yeah,” Pietro said, yawning. “Will you sing to me?”

“Of course, my love. Can Papa get ready for bed? He worked hard taking care of you tonight.”

“Ok. Goodnight, Papa.”

“Goodnight, _schnucki_. I'll see you in the morning.”

Erik watched Charles carry their son up the stairs. Pietro already had his thumb in his mouth and his head on Charles's shoulder. He would be asleep as soon as he hit the pillow.

<<I expect you naked in bed by the time I get there, you know.>>

Erik chuckled, stooping to clear the day's toys from the rug. <<You'll keep the hat, won't you? That fantasy wasn't just idle speculation.>>

Erik gasped as a golden cloak of love folded across his shoulders, and for a moment, he could see it: he and Charles, older, grayer, worn and battle-scarred but no less in love; Wanda and Pietro at their shoulders, beautiful and young with spouses of their own. Before them was a gigantic, eight-pronged menorah. As he watched Wanda light the _shamash_ , Erik felt the breath of a kiss against his cheek.

<<If you grab it for me off the mantle,>> Charles whispered, <<I just might go down on you in the beard.>>

Erik grinned and laughed wetly, wiping a hand across his face.

<< _Fröhliche Weihnachten, liebling_. >>

<<Happy holidays, my darling,>> Charles murmured. <<Now hurry up, or I'll put Santa to bed instead of you.>>

Erik laughed again and, leaving all else behind, he took the stairs two at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic, and happy holidays!


End file.
